


Try Something Different

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zaehlt
Genre: Alles was zählt - Freeform, F/M, Humour, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-02
Updated: 2010-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenny and Roman have an idea. Lars is terrified, or possibly intrigued. At any rate, he's speechless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Something Different

“Lars?” His name echoes off the steam-shrouded walls of the locker room, quite unexpected, and Lars nearly slips on the wet tile. He feels his shoulders tighten almost immediately. He still can’t put his finger on what it is that irritates him so about Roman Wild.

“What?” he growls, groping for a towel to wrap around his hips. Not that he’s overly modest, but Steinkamps’ locker rooms do provide less privacy than most, and he’ll need to have words with the little sucker about sneaking up on people. Or one word, at least: _Don’t_.

Behind him, Roman cheerfully continues, annoyingly unaware of his irritation, or ignoring it deliberately. “Jenny and I were wondering if we could go over some ideas for our routine next week.”

Biting off a curse, Lars wipes water out of his eyes and turns. “Well, can’t it wait until the next training session, or at least some time when I’m not just… out of… the… the… uhm.” The word for the little cubicle with the water coming out of the metal thing seems to have temporarily escaped him, but in his defence, it’s not every day that he’s distracted by a sight like this.

“Shower?” Roman supplies helpfully, grinning, and Lars nods, with some effort. He clears his throat. “Why… uhm. Roman, why are you wearing that?”

Roman’s grin widens, although it’s somewhat hard to focus on his face.

Jenny’s wrap is… purple. Being somewhat chronically oblivious about fashion and clothes in general, Lars has never really paid attention to what Jenny’s wearing, other than that she generally looks really pretty in just about anything and that some of the things she owns have really baffling fasteners that make her clothes frustratingly difficult to get off. And he’d noticed that the wrap was purple, of course, but…

Well, it’s more than purple. It’s purple and pink and white and grey and made of some flimsy, shimmery, woolly material and it’s really, _really_ not supposed to be worn by a man.

Especially not without anything underneath.

Lars stares. He knows that he’s staring. He can’t stop himself staring.

The long ends of the wrap tie just underneath Roman’s pectorals, leaving most of his midriff and stomach exposed. The V of the deep neck has slipped a little to one side, exposing a dusky, erect nipple, but even the covered one is clearly visible, nearly poking through the loose weave. The soft material hugs his shoulders, the vivid purple pattern no less complimentary to his pale skin than to Jenny’s.

“Do you like? You gave us the idea, you know. When you said that it was Jenny’s earlier, and I couldn’t have it.” Roman’s voice sounds entirely too smug. Lars tries to clear his throat, say something, tell Roman he looks like a right twat. Nothing comes out.

“Yes, so we were thinking… well, everyone keeps saying we make such an unusual pair, so we might as well make something of it, right?” He hasn’t even heard Jenny come in until she appears right behind Roman. “What do you think?”

Lars gapes. She’s wearing one of Roman’s ratty training shirts, grey and washed-out, with the neck torn out into a messy plunge and the sleeves fraying at the seams. It slips off one creamy shoulder as she lifts her arm to wrap it around Roman from behind, her long-fingered hand coming to rest just underneath his collar bones. Her wine-coloured nails drum playfully against his chest.

Lars is vaguely aware that he really ought to stop standing here dripping on the tile and staring like a mooncalf. He ought to say something – preferably something caustic and dismissive, something that will let them know in no uncertain terms what a dumb idea this is and send them scampering to sulk at the bar, moping together about what a humourless berk he is while sipping some of those daft, girly cocktails they both like.

Sadly, human speech still eludes him.

Jenny’s hair is down, and she’s not wearing any jewellery. The tattered shirt somehow highlights her beauty like her fancy haute couture ensembles never quite manage – the fine structure of her bones, the creamy glow of her skin, the gracefulness of her motions as she brings her other arm around Roman, a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. By contrast, Roman is perfectly framed by the rich material, the elegant symmetry of his shoulders and hips lovingly accentuated by the expensive fabric. The wrap should make him look ridiculous and girly, really it should, but somehow it only highlights his masculinity, polishing every one of his assets and obliterating his flaws. Lars knows there’s nothing wrong with taking stock of his skaters’ physical attributes – after all, it is his job to know their physique and what it’s capable of, to make little mental notes that will come in handy for training routines later – but something about this feels very, very wrong.

He manages, finally, to kick his vocal cords into gear. “What the hell are you two up to?” He’s absurdly proud of his semi-even tone.

They both grin, looking disturbingly like a pair of Siamese cats about to pounce. They even _move_ like cats, Roman cocking his head just as Jenny rests her chin on his shoulder. “We thought we’d play around with the costumes a bit,” Roman announces innocently. “You know, try something different.”

“If that’s alright with you,” adds Jenny meekly, her fingers idly trailing across the purple fabric over Roman’s nipple. The motion makes Roman’s shirt slip farther off her shoulder. For a horrified second, Lars suspects he may need another towel. Maybe two.

As two pairs of eyes smirk at him, one hazel and one blue, Lars realises that he’s in for a lot of trouble.


End file.
